


A Day to Remember

by little0bird



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, James Likes Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Monty Python, Monty Python and the Holy Grail - Freeform, Staying home from school, faking an illness, fathers and sons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:39:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: James hoped he could convincingly pull off a vague sort of indisposition that would allow him to stay home today. His time in primary school was drawing to a close and he would begin at Hogwarts in September. His favorite memories were of staying home with one of his parents on the infrequent occasions he was ill, and he had their undivided attention.





	A Day to Remember

Harry slowly opened James' bedroom door and waved his wand at the small lamp next to his older son's bed, although, its light was somewhat unnecessary in the late spring morning. 'Jemmy,' Harry said softly, gently shaking James' shoulder. 'Jemmy, wake up, son.'

James made a muffled noise of protest at the intrusion to his sleep and burrowed deeper into the pillow. He rolled over and dragged his eyes open. 'Do I have to go to school today?' he asked groggily.

'Do you have an assignment due that you've forgotten to do?' Harry asked in alarm. He and Ginny were pretty good about keeping up with the children's schoolwork, but he frantically reviewed his mental list of their recent homework.

'No,' James said in a small voice, pushing into a semi-reclined position against his pillows. It was true. 'No exams today, either,' he added defensively, knowing that his parents might think he was skiving off school because he hadn't studied, but it wasn't the case. Harry picked up James' knapsack from the floor next to his desk and snagged a tattered folder from its depths. A quick peek at the calendar stapled to the front flap attested to the truth of James' statement.

James hoped he could convincingly pull off a vague sort of indisposition that would allow him to stay home today. His time in primary school was drawing to a close and he would begin at Hogwarts in September. His favorite memories were of staying home with one of his parents on the infrequent occasions he was ill, and he had their undivided attention. Ginny brought his meals on a tray and let him listen to the wireless all afternoon, while he blissfully read his weekly pile of books from the public library in Devon. Ginny looked in on him just often enough to reassure her he was doing all right, but not so often it drove him mad. She seemed to be able to strike just right balance. If Harry stayed home with James, he was more apt to tuck him up on the sofa downstairs and after lunch, he could be persuaded to watch a film before the others came home from school. James treasured those days, and with Hogwarts looming in the near future, they were soon to be no more. 'I don't feel well,' he told Harry, with just enough of a petulant whine to his voice that signaled illness.

'What's the matter?' Ginny inquired as she joined Harry at James' bedside.

'Says he doesn't feel well,' Harry muttered.

Ginny rested a hand on James' forehead, then leaned over him, pressing her lips to the space above the bridge of his nose, then his cheek. 'No fever,' she said, studying James' face. He didn't appear flushed, his eyes weren't glassy, and he seemed alert enough.

'Stomach hurts,' James supplied helpfully, taking care to mumble. 'Throat, too,' he added for good measure. Ginny exchanged a look with Harry and then turned her gaze back to James.

'I'll go and get breakfast ready,' Harry said, with a meaningful glance at his wife.

'Lie down,' Ginny told James. 'I'm going to go check on your brother and sister.' She met Harry in the corridor. 'Well?'

Harry ruffled his hair and frowned. 'I dunno,' he admitted. 'He hasn't got anything important to turn in at school. And he seemed fine last night when he went to bed,' he said doubtfully.

'Mum!' Lily called frantically from her bedroom, interrupting their conversation. She darted into the corridor, a pair of black tights dangling from her fingers. 'I poked my finger through them!' she wailed. Ginny held up the tights for inspection and while the hole could be repaired, now was not quite the time.

'There's a new pair in the back of the top drawer of your bureau,' she told Lily soothingly. 'Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.' Ginny combed her fingers through her daughter's autumnal hair, almost wistfully. Lily didn't let her plait it very often anymore, preferring to just bind it up and out of the way in a pedestrian ponytail. Lily padded back into her bedroom, leaving Ginny with the damaged tights. 'Just as well we keep new ones on hand,' she sighed. 'I haven't the slightest idea how Lily manages to mangle them by looking at them.'

'It's a gift,' Harry quipped lightly. 'Now, about Jemmy?'

Ginny fingered the hole in Lily's tights, thinking. 'What would be the harm in letting him stay home today?' she offered.

'None that I can think of,' Harry replied honestly. 'He's only got another month or so there, and he goes…' He trailed off, the pieces starting to come together. 'I'll stay home with him,' he said firmly. 'I haven't got anything urgent today that can't be handled from here. No point in sending him to school with a wobbly tummy. What if he gets sick there?'

'Who's sick?' Al stumbled from his bedroom, his head in the depths of his school jumper. It popped through the neck, disordering his dark hair even more than usual.

'Where are your shoes?' Harry demanded in exasperation.

'Downstairs, I think,' Al said with a shrug. 'Who's sick?' he repeated.

'James has a stomach ache,' Ginny answered, herding Al down the stairs. 'Staying home as a precaution.'

'I want to stay home!' protested Al.

Ginny paused halfway down the stairs. 'Are you ill?'

'No.'

'Then you're going to school,' she retorted.

'I never get to do anything fun,' Al grumbled, stomping into the kitchen.

'The next time you're not feeling well, then your father and I will allow you to stay home,' Ginny reminded him. 'Besides, summer hols start soon.'

'That's six whole weeks away,' Al snorted.

'And then you'll have two months to loll around the back garden.' Ginny picked up Al's knapsack, then Lily's and set them down on the table. She briskly unzipped each one, and checked for any forms, papers, or various other sundry things that the school might have sent home for a signature. She found Lily's overdue library book that Lily swore she searched for in the entire house and a permission form for Al to participate in an outing that was due back to his teacher tomorrow. Ginny put the book on the counter, and grabbed a quill from the jar that held spare Self-Inking Quills near a pad of paper attached to the refrigerator. She quickly scrawled her signature on Al's form and handed it to him. 'Don't forget to turn it in, please,' she said, while tucking Lily's book into her own overstuffed bag. She would drop it off on her way to work that morning.

Harry came into the kitchen, followed by Lily, winding a hair elastic around her ponytail. Despite Lily's best efforts, wisps of hair drifted around her face and neck. Ginny beckoned to Lily and quickly, but neatly, re-did the job. Harry grabbed the handle of the wooden spoon that had been stirring the porridge and began ladling it into waiting, magically warmed bowls. Lily and Al were given mugs of cocoa against the slight chill in the spring morning, tea for himself and Ginny, and orange juice for all of them. 'Did you find your shoes?' he asked Al.

Al shook his head, drizzling honey into his porridge. 'No,' he said shortly, passing the honey to Lily who added enough honey to make Harry's teeth ache in response.

'Where did you see them last?' Harry asked, pouring milk into his own porridge, then adding a handful of sultanas.

'When I took them off yesterday,' Al said truthfully. 'I don't remember it being in the house. They got muddy when we walked home from school and James told me not to take them off inside the house.'

Harry scrubbed his hand over his face. They had a tight routine in the morning to get everyone out the door on time, and incidents like James' sudden illness knocked it off-kilter. 'So they've been outside all night?'

'I think so,' Al replied, nose scrunching with doubt.

Harry pushed his half-eaten breakfast aside and went to the back door of the house. He opened the door just enough to ascertain Al's shoes were sitting next to the steps and bent to retrieve them. Ordinarily, he'd make Al fetch the shoes, but the boy did need to wear them today. Al had outgrown his spare pair of school shoes and these were an old pair of James' that he had worn for less than a month before he had outgrown them. With a few flicks of his wand, the caked-on mud disappeared and an eye-watering cloud of steam rose into the air. Harry dropped the shoes next to Al's chair and thoroughly scrubbed his hands before resuming his interrupted meal. Ginny had thoughtfully placed a charm on it so his porridge was still warm and tea still blissfully hot. Harry loved his children, and couldn't imagine his life without them, but there were times where they drove him absolutely mad.

Lily glanced at the vacant chair next to hers. 'Where's James?' she asked innocently.

'He's not feeling well today,' Harry told her, over Al's heaving sigh. Harry reached over and ruffled Al's hair with a sympathetic grin. It would be Al's turn next year to wake up with an expedient stomachache, then Lily's – if James were inclined to share his secret. The idea that his babies were growing up made a lump appear in Harry's throat and he cleared it loudly, sipping his tea.

'Merlin's beard, is that the time?' Ginny blurted, staring at the clock on the wall. She chivvied Al and Lily upstairs to brush their teeth. A moment with James to assure herself he wasn't worse, a promise extracted from Harry that he would call Molly if James didn't feel better later, and a kiss for James, then Harry, then she herded Al and Lily out of the door. Harry watched the children trot down the lane to the village and school, and the faint  _pop_  of Ginny's Apparition signaled he could drop the pretense.

He lightly walked up the stairs and poked his head into James' bedroom. James, for his part, was valiantly keeping up the façade he was really quite ill. 'Hungry?'

'No.' James' stomach rumbled loudly, belying his statement.

'Oh. Well, in that case, I'll leave you be for now,' Harry said, backing away.

'Well, I might could have some toast, maybe,' James cried. He threw back the quilt, preparatory to leaving his bed, but Harry gently pressed him back against the pillows.

'No, you stay in bed,' Harry insisted. 'I'll bring it on a tray.'

'But…' James' protests died in his throat. If he said he wasn't feeling that sick, Harry might make him go to school after all. 'Okay. Thanks, Dad,' he said weakly, adopting an appropriate tone for one supposedly too infirm to attend school.

Harry chuckled and headed back into the kitchen, jabbing his wand at the loaf of bread. Several slices flew to a plate, toasting as they did so. He added the butter dish and a pot of James' favorite jam to the tray along with a pot of tea. Harry put his mug from breakfast on the tray, as well as a clean mug for James, and returned to James' bedroom. 'We'll see how this sits, hmm?' he said, tucking a serviette under James' chin, then passed a slice of toast, spread thickly with strawberry jam, to him. 'If you feel up for it, we can move things down to the sofa in an hour or two.' Harry stepped into the corridor and Summoned the rocking chair that had been moved into their bedroom once Lily was old enough to declare she no longer needed to be rocked to sleep.

James nibbled at the toast, trying desperately to not wolf it down in three bites. He managed to sip his tea and not gulp it, while longingly gazing at the stack of golden toast sitting on his desk. Harry sprawled in the rocking chair with a grin, and grabbed a piece of toast. 'Dad?' James' eyes darted to the toast and back to Harry's face. 'Could I have another, please?'

Harry wordlessly smeared a layer of butter and jam on the toast and handed it to his son. He didn't ask James about his health, but chatted lightly about Quidditch, England's chances in the World Cup in two years, what classes James looked forward to at Hogwarts the most. Harry was genuinely interested in James' answers, especially when it came to Hogwarts. He often wondered if any of their children would follow in their footsteps. Not that he particularly wanted them to become an Auror, and he was all but certain Ginny didn't want them to play Quidditch professionally. 'You want to take Arithmancy?' Harry asked, as James waxed poetic about a class Harry only dimly understood.

'It's brilliant, Dad!' James enthused.

'So you want to be a Curse-Breaker, then?' Harry asked doubtfully. Not that he didn't think James would be a disaster as a Curse-Breaker, but it would likely mean he would have to spend some time abroad before he could come back to Britain. Already Harry could feel his heart lurch at the idea of one of his children living so far away.

James vigorously shook his head. 'No,' he said scornfully. 'If you know how to break charms, then you ought to know how to  _create_  them, right?' he stated.

'I guess so,' Harry said. 'So why do you want to learn to create charms?'

'Why wouldn't I?'

'Fair enough,' Harry allowed.

'Did Uncle George and Uncle Ron take Arithmancy?' James asked hopefully.

Harry began to laugh. 'Them? No.' He snorted mirthfully before continuing. 'George managed an O.W.L. in Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. And you've heard the tales about how he left school with Fred.'

'Oh.' The light faded a little in James' earnest blue eyes.

'Oh, he's quite good at it,' Harry reassured him. 'Ron is very talented, too.' He rocked for a few moments, studying the tea in his mug. 'They're both so much better than what you'd expect if you were solely looking at exam marks,' he mused. 'Ron especially.'

James shot a sly look at his father. 'So you're saying I can still fail my N.E.W.T.s and it won't make a difference?'

Harry glared at James sternly. 'Absolutely not, young man.' His gaze shifted until he was staring over the rims of his glasses. 'Your mother and I do expect you to earn a respectable amount of N.E.W.T.s.'

'And what would that be?' James asked expectantly. 'More than three?'

'Definitely more than three. At the very least five.' Harry took a thoughtful sip of his tea. 'But no one is expecting you to earn twelve, like Bill,' he added. 'Well, almost no one. Your grandmother might.'

James quickly sobered. 'Does she really think we ought to sit for twelve exams?' he cried, aghast.

'Well, maybe ten or eleven. Molly thinks if Bill could do it, then we all can,' Harry told him with a twisted grin. 'It's good to have goals.'

'That's not a goal,' James snorted. 'That's torture.'

'I would have to agree,' Harry murmured. 'All we want is for you to walk out of those gates at the end of your seventh year, and know that you did your very best.' He set his empty mug on the tray and beckoned for James to give his to him. 'How's your stomach?'

James started guiltily as he realized he was supposed to be peaky. 'Erm…'

Harry picked up the tray and started to leave James' room. 'You feel up for a film?'

'Right now?'

'Why not?'

James considered the possibilities. Harry did have an extensive film collection. It was also one of his father's favorite ways to end a week by gathering everyone in the sitting room on Friday evenings after dinner and watching a film or two. They all had their favorite genres and every week, it was a different person's turn to choose the film for that night. As a result James, Al, and Lily had been exposed to a wide variety of cinematic features. 'Because it's Friday?' James put forth tentatively.

Harry grinned impishly and James could see what sort of child his father might have been. 'I won't tell if you won't.' He made a gesture with his elbow. 'Come on.' Harry left the room and James could hear his footfalls fade as he descended the stairs. He sat in his bed, weighing his options. An illicit film festival with his father or staying cooped up in bed. He didn't have to think twice. Barely remembering to keep up with his ruse, James slid gingerly from his bed and grabbed his most recent Christmas jumper from where it was draped over the back of his desk chair. He was halfway out the door before he doubled back and snatched a pair of socks from a bureau drawer. He plopped down on the stop step and pulled them over his bare feet, then padded down to the sitting room, where Harry already waited in an armchair, the sofa made up with a cozy afghan. Harry pointed to the wall of gleaming DVD cases. 'Go on, then.'

James shuffled over to it and scrutinized the titles, tilting his head slightly to read the vertically printed titles. He was drawn to a section that held a handful of films his father only watched very occasionally anymore. The few times James could recall Harry watching them was the day after Ginny would cryptically tell him that his father had had a "bad night". When James was small, he'd climb onto the sofa next to Harry and burrow into his side. He could remember the feel of Harry's arm around his shoulders and the smell of his soap from his shower that morning. He hadn't understood the humor, but he had loved to hear the soft sounds of Harry's chuckles. Recently, James had begun to sneak downstairs after everyone was asleep, and put one of those films in and play it with the sound turned nearly completely off. One in particular had added quite a few new words to his vocabulary, not to mention roused his curiosity. James pulled a case from the shelf and inserted the disc into the player before curling up on the sofa, pulling the afghan around his shoulders.

The menu screen lit the telly and Harry made a sound deep in his chest. 'Hmmmph.' He glanced at James, eyes narrowed slightly. 'You want to watch this one?' he asked.

James stiffened a little, but managed a nonchalant shrug. 'Sure.' He peeked at Harry from the corner of his eye.

Harry's lips pressed together as he gazed at the television, fingers tapping the remote control. His index finger hovered over the button marked "play". 'Do not under any circumstances let on to your mother that I let you watch this,' he warned.

'I've seen it before, Dad,' James chided.

'Yeah. But you were, what? Five? Six? The only thing that kept your mum from hexing the DVD player was the fact you were too little to understand it all.'

James sat up and soberly regarded Harry. He solemnly made a cross over his chest and held up his hand, palm facing out. 'I promise I will not now, nor ever, let Mum find out that I've seen this film on this day.' Dropping the serious mien, he grinned mischievously at Harry. 'All right, then?'

Harry closed his eyes, shook his head, silently commended his soul to God lest Ginny find out, and pressed "play".

XxXxXxX

James sang softly under his breath. 'Every sperm is sacred. Every sperm is great. When a sperm is wasted, God gets quite irate…'

Harry began to snort, making an effort to not break into laughs. The song had only just started, and had Jemmy been a novice, he probably wouldn't have known the lyrics.  _So you've seen this before, have you?_  he thought. James could easily quote far too many lines to have only seen it once or twice six years ago. He shouldn't have been surprised. Creatively bending the rules was a Weasley family trait, not to mention a Potter one as well. They weren't allowed to watch films unless Harry, Ginny, or Teddy was at home with them. Harry surmised James was doing it while they were sleeping. It would certainly explain his sleepiness at breakfast on random Saturdays or Sundays, in spite of his firm bedtime of ten o'clock at night.  _Well, he wouldn't be lying if he said we were at home. We were. Just not conscious…_ _I don't know how we haven't caught him, the jammy git,_ Harry mused with more than a touch of admiration at his son's sheer cheek.

'I don't get it,' James announced.

'What?'

'"When Dad came…"' James quoted, trailing off thoughtfully. 'What does that mean?'

Harry could feel his mouth drop open. 'Erm…' He felt his face flush furiously. 'I'm going to get a cup of tea. Would you like some?' he chattered nervously. Was it too soon to explain a bit of slang to James? There were several off-color phrases Harry casually used around the boys, but they mostly dealt with common bodily functions, not sexual activity.

'Did I say something wrong?' James asked timidly, his earlier confidence shrinking slightly.

'Oh… No. Of course not,' Harry assured him. 'I'm just going to get some tea, and we can… talk…' he gulped, beating a hasty retreat to the relative sanctuary of the kitchen. He and Ginny had always answered James' queries regarding sex and sexuality – in an age-appropriate manner, of course – just as they had been with Teddy. Lately, though, James had approached Teddy with some of his concerns as the signs of puberty appeared, which Teddy was able to explain in much more colorful and explicit terms than Harry believed he would be able to manage. Above all, there was never any shame layered over it. He prepared a fresh pot of tea and took it out to the sitting room and poured a mug for James and himself, more to give them both something to do with their hands, than actual thirst. 'So what has Teddy told you?' Harry asked carefully.

Cheeks and ears burning a dull red, James launched into a mumbling recitation of exactly what Teddy had said in great detail. Harry only nodded at key points, painfully aware of how humiliating this was for James, and allowed him to talk until he had said everything he wanted. He had turned to George when he was James' age and had never forgotten how embarrassed he had been, but eternally grateful George recognized it and didn't use the occasion to take the piss out of him. James took a long swallow of his cooling tea and looked at Harry intently. 'So?'

Harry cleared his throat. 'Well. You know those mornings when you wake up and your pajamas or bedding is a bit damp?'

'Erm. Yeah.'

'That's what "come" means. Ejaculation.' Harry willed himself not to lock his gaze with his tea and maintain eye contact with James.  _Better he asks one of us than Fred or Jacob_ , Harry thought. Merlin knew what information they would try to pass off accurate. Knowing them, they'd tell James something questionable, just to take the mickey out of him.

James' forehead creased. 'Why do they call it that?' he asked curiously.

'You know,' Harry began sheepishly. 'I really don't know.' He began to chuckle, which grew into outright laughs, breaking the nervous tension. James joined him and after a few minutes, the laughter subsided into random snorts, and Harry restarted the film. 'Jemmy, I know all this might be embarrassing for you, but I do want you to know you can ask Teddy or me anything. Even your mum, although, I'm reasonably sure that might put you off even wanting to snog for a while, if you had it in the back of your head that your mum told you about it.'

'Ew.'

'How many times have you seen this?' Harry asked smoothly, as if James hadn't uttered a sound.

'Four,' James responded automatically, then guiltily clapped a hand to his mouth. 'You didn't hear that.'

Harry smiled and winked. 'Hear what?'

XxXxXxX

Harry charmed the wooden spoon to stir the soup while he laid the table for a simple lunch. He craned his head through the doorway of the kitchen and called, 'You feel up to eating at the table, or do you want your lunch on a tray?'

James looked up from his book and carefully marked his place with a broken quill. His aunt Hermione could be death on people who bent down the corners of the pages of a book. He didn't know how she would know, but she would. 'I can do the table.' He climbed over the arm of the sofa, clambering over the stacked pillows and cast-aside afghan and tried not to run toward the savory aromas of chicken soup and warm bread. Harry bit his lip to hide the smile that arose from James' pitiful attempts to pretend he was battling a stomach bug and filled James' bowl nearly to the brim with soup. He filled his own bowl and went he took it to the table, nudged the crock of butter closer to James. James reached under the tea towel tucked around thick slices of bread and liberally spread it with butter before dunking it into the steaming broth. He managed to eat it in a way in which his grandmother would approve, silencing the rumblings of his stomach before picking up his spoon and applying himself to the large bowl in front of him. Both of his parents were good cooks, but his hunger made a simple soup taste like ambrosia of the gods. Hunger satisfied for the moment, James glanced up at Harry. Something had been weighing on his mind for a while, silly as it seemed. 'Dad?'

'Yeah?' Harry set his spoon down and gave James his full attention.

'Could I ask you something?'

'Of course.'

James squirmed in his chair. He didn't like feeling like such a baby. If Lily had been the one to say something, he could feel superior. Besides, she was only seven. 'Were you scared to go to Hogwarts?' he asked stiffly, staring at the breadbasket.

Harry picked up his spoon and dipped it into his bowl, scooping up a mouthful of soup. He studied James thoughtfully while he ate. 'Sure I was,' Harry said, careful not to sound too blasé. 'I was raised by Muggles who didn't know a thing about magic,' he began. He'd never talked about the Dursleys to his children, beyond saying in passing his parents had died when he was a baby and his mother's sister and her husband had taken him in. Much of his earlier life was carefully hidden from the children under the belief that people see what they want, and Harry fervently believed the less he spoke of his life as The Chosen One, the more likely the children were to see him as simply their father and nothing more. It had worked so far to the point where even walking past the statue in the village commemorating that long ago Halloween night didn't rouse the children's interest. But then again, they had spent their lives walking past it, and it was just another part of the scenery. Harry had already begun to mentally steel himself against the inevitable questions that were certain to arise, now that James was leaving for Hogwarts in September. 'I didn't know how to get through to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. I was in a panic,' Harry mused, smiling a little with the reminiscence. 'Luckily, I happened to arrive at King's Cross just before Grandmum with your mum, and Percy, Fred, George, and Ron in tow. I asked her how to get through and she was kind enough to explain it to me. I thought I was going to be the worst in my class, because I'd never been exposed to magic before. I didn't know about Quidditch, or how we were to be Sorted into Houses.' He chuckled softly. 'I was never so scared as just before the Sorting ceremony. I was relieved to find out we just had to wear the Sorting Hat.'

'Really?' James asked incredulously.

'Really.' Harry and James ate their lunch in silence. 'There's more to it than just talent, you know,' Harry said after a while. 'Talent does count for a bit, but it's like playing Quidditch. If you don't put any work into it, you're not going to get any better. And the right wand helps,' he added, recalling Ron and Neville's difficulties performing magic with wands that had chosen other wizards at first. 'And don't leave your homework until the last minute,' Harry said ruefully. 'Your uncle Ron and I were bad about that. Your aunt Hermione would _tsk_ disapprovingly every time we played chess or Exploding Snap instead of starting in on it straightaway.'

James nodded. He'd had that drummed into his head from the time he'd started primary school.

XxXxXxX

'Dad,' James piped up as Castle Anthrax appeared.

'Hmmm?' Harry's shoulders stiffened a little. The Castle Anthrax scene might be a bit difficult to explain.

James inhaled deeply then said in a rush, 'I'm not really sick.'

Harry let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding in a  _whoosh_. 'I know.'

James twisted on the sofa. 'H-how did you know?' he spluttered.

Harry began to laugh so hard, tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes. He took several deep breaths to calm himself and snorting only a little wiped his eyes on the corner of the afghan. 'I am an Auror,' he pointed out wryly. 'I've spent most of my life putting clues together about people and what they do. Sure, it's been with Dark wizards, but after a while, you learn to read ordinary folks, too.' He chuckled a few more times, then reached for his mug of tea. 'Let's see… Even though you didn't have anything important to turn in at school today, your timing is a bit suspect,' he said, lifting one finger as he ticked off items on an imaginary list. 'Only a few weeks left of primary school, then it's off to Hogwarts,' Harry said. 'As much as your mum and I try, we don't get to spend nearly as much time with each of you on your own than we'd like. I would have given anything to spend one day with my mum or dad like this,' he added wistfully. 'Two, your stomach growls at a rather advanced volume,' Harry told James, using his index finger to poke his son in the belly, then raised a second finger. James giggled in spite of himself. 'Three, when you don't want to eat, that's how I know you're truly ill,' he intoned, lifting a third finger. 'You all but inhaled that first piece of toast and begged for more and made short work of your soup at lunch.'

'Oh.' James' brow furrowed with worry.

Harry pressed a kiss to the top of James' head. 'No worries here, mate,' he said softly.

'Are you going to tell Mum? Is she going to be mad?' James blurted, suddenly terrified that he'd have some sort of punishment for lying about being sick and skipping school that day.

Harry merely put his arm around James' shoulder. 'Your secret is safe with me,' he said quietly. 'Now, shh. You're going to miss this next bit,' he said, feeling James relax into his side. He hoped it didn't need explanation, and one day when James had his own children, he would understand that moments like this one were precious. It was a moment Harry would keep tucked away for the moments he knew were to come in the future: one of those dreaded notes from Hogwarts detailing what sort of prank James had done or that he'd gotten into a fight with another student; breaking curfew or one of the family rules; getting caught doing something with some girl that he ought not to do until he was much, much older – to remember a more innocent time and place.

No matter how old James would be, Harry knew he would always look at his son and see him at this moment in his rumpled pajamas and untidy hair, only eleven years old.


End file.
